Hell is Easier When You're not Enduring it Alone
by fukaimoriMidori
Summary: Hell is being haunted by a past you'd do anything to forget. Jet x Mai Warning: Implied sex.


**Title: Hell is Easier When You're not Enduring it Alone  
>Number of words: 2512<br>Summary: Hell is being haunted by a past you'd do anything to forget. Jet x Mai (Warning: Implied sex.)  
>Author's comment: They would make an amazing couple. I don't care if Jet is supposed to be dead. The first line of the fic just came to me and I continued from there. I'm still learning so writing's still a little clunky. But I think this is one of the better things I've written.<br>**

The problem with using throwing knives is that eventually, you run out of ammunition. This is an inevitable problem, but not one Mai has ever had to face before. So she does the unthinkable.

She runs away.

Or she _tries _to. She's been trying to for a while now, once her sleeves had started to feel suspiciously light. But it isn't easy. Just as it isn't easy to knock her mysterious opponent out.

She is facing is a boy her age - tall and slim with a shock of brown hair. He holds twin tigerheads in his hands, the hooked blades jerking too closely to her for comfort. Her opponent was agile, swift, and extremely skilled. He'd managed to dodge every one of her knives, and showed no signs of tiring.

_Stupid Zuko, _Mai curses in her head, and plenty of other colourful things as well. Stupid, stupid Zuko, and his stupid, stupid behaviour. They are always fighting these days, about petty little things that really, didn't matter. She can't even remember what their last argument had been about, only remembered the heat under her skin, her hands twitching to throw a knife at him, just to scare him a little, then storming out of the palace, still holding that knife. She'd felt stifled, even out of the oppressive court, and had gone for a very long walk, until she had somehow ended up in the fringes of the capital. Despite Zuko's – though she was mad at him, she had to admit – capable management, poverty still existed.

That was when she'd sensed the rapid but stealthy presence behind her. She was quick enough to move out of the way, and the incoming blade only just managed to brush her neck.

It didn't take long before the streets were emptied of civilians. The chance of accidental impalement from a flying knife or a sword is very high after all.

When she is almost out of her knives, she draws her sais. She has no idea how she is going to land a hit with them, not with their short reach and his swords.

She is lucky though – she had been too caught up worrying about her ammunition to notice that he was tiring too, getting careless. His movements are becoming wilder, more desperate. And _there_– an opening.

She has the knife pining down his right sleeve to the wall behind him. At the same time, she brings a leg up and kicks away the sword he holds in his left arm. Quickly, she has another sai in her hand, this one kissing his neck.

"Don't move," she says harshly. He is very still.

"Who the hell are you?" she demands. He glares at her.

"Just do it already," he says.

"That doesn't answer the question." The sharp blade nicks his skin, drawing a bead of blood. "Why did you attack me? Or do you just go after random girls on the street?"

He smiles, despite the danger he is in, and it is an arrogant, infuriating expression. "What can I say? I'm a lady's man."

She should slice his neck open, she knows this. Cut him up and leave him to die on the streets. But there is something about his cockiness.

"Why did you attack me?" she asks again.

He eyes her as though weighing his answer, then says bluntly "You looked like you had money." He smirks. "That, and you _are _Fire Nation scum."

"And you're just a peasant from the Earth Kingdom," she returns. "The war is _over_, moron."

"Sure," he says. "But that doesn't mean you lot have paid for everything you've done." And yet, there is no vehemence in his voice.

"Too bad, you just picked a fight with the wrong girl," she says.

The blade leaves his neck. She turns to go, but before she does, she tosses her money pouch at his feet. It clinks heavily as it lands in the dirt.

"That's for making my day a little exciting," she says lightly. Something dark twists in her gut.

She likes him, she realises. _Shit._

_**...**  
><em>

The next morning, she wakes up to find a bundle next to her bed. She opens it with a pounding heart to find her knives, every one of them lovingly polished. It is disturbing that she is barely perturbed by his intrusion into the royal palace, and the privacy of her own room, no less. There is a note, written in an untidy, almost illegible scrawl.

_Thanks for the money,_ it says. _You're pretty good at a fight. Y'know, for a girl. And in case you were wondering, my name is Jet. _

She could scream from his arrogance. Instead, she feels her traitorous lips curve into a smile.

_**...**_

The next time he sees her she is packing her bags and fighting back tears.

"Hey," he says, by way of greeting, and slides through the window into the room. Her eyes widen in surprise at his sudden appearance, but only for a moment.

"Hi," she says, suddenly as expressionless as ever. She blinks away the tears, wishes she could do the same for the hurt that is wracking her body.

He sees her though, all the little things that she used to be able to hide so easily – the anger, the hurt, the self-loathing – emotions she used to be able to shove away until they are almost divorced from herself.

"What happened?" he asks as he crosses the room. Gone is his arrogance. He is all care and concern as he reaches for her, even though she is Fire Nation and the enemy. Right now, she's only a girl.

"Don't touch me!" She pulls away from him. "Just… _Don't_." There is more than a hint of a sob in her voice.

He stands behind her, watches her back tremble. He has not felt this helpless for years.

"Are you leaving?" he asks quietly.

"Yeah."

"Come with me?"

She half-turns, her lips parted as she thinks. He imagines running a thumb along her mouth, imagines gathering her in his arms and kissing away her steely exterior and finding the girl inside.

He likes her, he realizes. More than he will ever care to admit. _Shit. _

Then, she smiles. It's a tiny one, but something inside him leaps at the sight of it.

"Yeah."

_**...**_

He gets hot food and tea inside her first and she wonders how can a jerk be so nice. He simply wonders when was the last time she ate. At the noodle store, she orders wine as well, and slaps away his protests.

"I'm going to get wasted tonight," she tells him. "You can either join me, or take care of me when I can't walk straight."

She's paying, so he decides there's no harm in drinking some too.

"You know what sucks?" she asks after her fourth glass. Her pale face is flushed, and the colour looks good on her skin.

"What?" he asks. He wants her to keep talking; he realizes he loves the sound of her voice.

"That the person who taught me how to feel – I mean, sappy emotions are supposed to be good right? – is the one who has to break my heart." She laughs and it's a broken, bitter sound, like shattered glass. It's all so very melodramatic when she says it aloud. It's hilarious.

"Who was it?" he asks. He is jealous, but at the same time, he is sorry for her. He would kiss away all the hurt if he could, but she would probably decapitate him if he tried.

"Zuko." She snorts, inelegant and un-ladylike.

"The Fire Lord?" Of course. So this has to be Lady Mai. He has heard of the Fire Lord's girlfriend – who hasn't? – but hadn't imagined her like this. So… _Un_-bland. Nothing like the sophisticated giggling aristocrat he'd thought most court ladies were.

"Who else?" She stares into space, wondering when it had all started to break down, and why.

_**...**_

They stumble into his room at a nearby inn. She is just as drunk as she said she would be. Maybe that is why she kisses him hard and reaches to undress him.

He lets her peel away his clothes. And because he's drunk too, he pulls the pins out of her hair – no doubt she uses them as weapons when she needs to – and lets the black mass tumble down her back. He likes it better this way; likes _her_ better this way. Unguarded, she is wild and rough and almost animalistic.

He wonders idly if she will press a cold blade to his throat and kill him the next morning. Instead, she presses her cold lips to his neck as she caresses him with fumbling fingers in the silver light of the moon. He thinks of the coming morning a moment longer, and he finds he really couldn't care less.

_**...**_

The morning after is an awkward scramble for her clothes – how the _hell_ did they get all over the place? – while he smirks at her from the bed.

"You don't _have _to get dressed y'know," he says, with more than a hint of a leer in his voice.

She sends a knife flying towards him – a knife he dodges neatly.

"You were supposed to _take care_ of me last night!" she hisses.

He raises one cocky eyebrow. "And I didn't? You seemed to think I did, judging from all those noises you made – "

It takes her only a split second to cross the tiny room and tackle him. Then his mouth is latched on hers and she is soft skin and softer sighs, his for the taking.

_**...**_

Together, they leave the Fire Nation. There is nothing for them there anyway – not for him, or her.

It's easy enough to leave a place, to people. But memory continues to haunt them, like ghosts clinging stubbornly to the warmth of the living.

Sometimes, he slips into nightmares so deep she can do nothing to wake him. All she can do is soothe and stroke him as he thrashes in his fitful sleep, babbling about fire and blood and burning and then it changes, to green lights and a lake and _oh god_–

In the dark, she cradles him, more tenderly than anyone would believe her capable of being. She sings off-key lullabies to scare the ghosts away and she is there when he wakes.

When the sun breaks through the shadows and his feverish dreams, he does not acknowledge his weakness, and neither does she.

_**...**_

He sees how she flinches whenever Zuko's name is heard and he pretends that it doesn't hurt. It does not surprise him when she drags him to a seedy tavern the night of the Fire Lord's wedding. She downs so much wine he is almost afraid she would die from excessive liquour. She doesn't die though, and instead, she laughs, tosses her hair and alternates between threatening him with her knives and kissing him wild. He is not sure which one scares him more.

That night, she holds a blade to his throat even as she tangles her limbs around him. He will not say it, but it really _really _turns him on.

_**...**_

She sees sometimes, behind his cockiness and his rougish smile, that he is nothing more than a boy, scared and guilty and running away from every one that he has failed and disappointed and hurt. And killed.

It's like looking into a mirror. She wonders if he sees the same when he looks into her.

_**...**_

He learns that she likes fruit tarts, and even though it's not his style, he scours around until he brings back the biggest one he can find. It is sprinkled with sugared rose petals, and it looks and smells like heaven. He doesn't know why tears run down her cheeks when she sees it and is too afraid to ask. After a while, she thanks him for it and they share it together. Later, she thanks him again, and _very _nicely indeed.

_**...**_

When trudging in a forest near the town of Gaoling, she notices how he looks at the tree tops, a look that is full of longing and sorrow and hope and regret. It's at times like these she remembers he is more than a cocky, infuriating boy who has the ability to drive her up the wall like no other. She reaches out to kiss him, until only a shadow of it remains.

_**...**_

There are times when he wonders just why she left with him, and if it really were because of Zuko. He thinks she has been burnt out – hollow and charred in the inside like he is – for a very long time. He wonders why, what happened, but he knows like him, she will never tell.

_**...**_

Sometimes, she sees him look at the moon, and she knows he is thinking of the waterbender girl. She had never thought she was capable of jealousy before, but she is jealous now, and it burns icy-cold throughout her body.

"Come here," she tells him, and he doesn't need to be told twice. With her lips and her hands, she reminds him of the present, and banishes the past.

_**...**_

One day, he forgets who she is, and can only see the gold in her eyes, her pale skin, and he screams _"Fire Nation!"_as he attacks her. She defends herself the best she can – which is pretty darn well, if she says so herself. It takes her a while, but she manages to knock the swords out of his hands and pins him to the dirt.

He glares at her, and it hurts to see him look at her like that.

Under her fingers, his skin burns as though he is on fire inside, and he feels so _good_against her cold, cold skin, she can't help but reach closer to him –

Then _he_ is the one pinning her down, and reaching out for her, and they are nothing more then a wild tangle of hair and lips and limbs.

_**...**_

One day, she laughs. It is a bright ringing sound, without any hint of malice or sorrow in it.

He nurses the injury he'd obtained from walking into a tree, and he thinks that it was worth it.

_**...**_

Eventually, they stumble across his old village, or what used to be it. Its charred remains have been cleared away, and in its place is a rice field. A new village has sprung up nearby, full of people and children and laughter and _life _–

And that day, he learns, _really _learns that it is possible to move on, to rebuild and to start again.

And that night, he teaches her, as he kisses her tenderly, and she says his name with a sigh and a sweet smile on her lips.

_**...**_

Over and over again, they fumble and slide and catch each other in the dark, chasing away the ghosts of the past and letting the dawn come slipping through.

_**End.**_


End file.
